


Friends

by myracingthoughts



Series: Lover Come Back [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Protective Natasha Romanov, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Clint Barton should have known better than to think the woman he’d fought side-by-side with for a decade wouldn’t see a new relationship a mile away.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis
Series: Lover Come Back [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773718
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this completely unplanned interlude that just kind of happened. Enjoy!

If Natasha Romanoff could have rolled her eyeballs out of their respective sockets, she probably would have.

Clint Barton stood across from her in one of the Avengers training rooms, awkwardly opening and closing his mouth, much like a fish, to answer just what the hell was up with him. Stalled mid-wrap, fabric dangling from his grasp and fallen from between his teeth, she watched the cogs turning behind his eyes as he tried to figure out just what gave him away.

Natasha had a long list of reasons she could have offered: He’d actually said ‘good morning’ in full instead of his usual grumpily mumbled ‘mornin’.’ He showed up to work on time — not five to ten minutes late, like the last few weeks. And, the cherry on top, he’d volunteered to train earlier than usual because he was ‘in the area’ anyway.

But Natasha had known the answer to her question before she’d even asked it. Frankly, that was half the fun of posing it in the first place. Everyone knew. She was pretty sure FRIDAY had sent out a news bulletin.

And even if she hadn’t, the signs were beyond obvious — embarrassingly so, for a spy.

There was only one person he talked to that lived closer to the office and could have put that stupid smile on his dumb face, and that was Darcy Lewis. This morning, he’d barely bothered to hide their canoodling in the lobby, putting on a show for Stark Industries employees.

Their breakfast exchange had always been a thinly veiled front for their flirtation —though who knew if Barton recognized it at face value — but today’s had been different. She would know; she’d been watching it for months. They’d basically made googly eyes at each other for a solid sixty seconds, debating whether to push it into PDA territory. 

It was enough to make Natasha want to vomit.

So, of course, she’d have to interrogate him pre-training. If nothing else, it was a _service_ , to prepare him for the incoming one-liners and ribbing the team had in store for him. 

It was his own fault, really. 

Clint should have known better than to think the woman he’d spent almost every day with for the last ten plus years wouldn’t see a new relationship a mile away… never mind an entire team full of ex-spies, assassins and trained operatives.

“Barton, you’re so screwed,” Bucky snickered, slapping the blond’s shoulder as he crossed the room towards the punching bags hanging in the corner.

Clint whipped his head around to meet the brunet’s voice, Natasha’s original question long forgotten.

“What? Why?!” he asked, eyes wide at the realization his hazing wouldn’t be limited to his work wife.

“You got yourself a spitfire like that? It’s like taming wild horses.”

“With a herd of cats,” Natasha added in a knowing tone.

“First off, how would you know anything about relationships, Barnes? Pretty sure you haven’t had one since prohibition. Second, it’s a _clowder_ , a clowder of cats,” Clint corrected. “And I am not a clowder of cats! I’d be an adorable puppy or a badass hawk or something.”

Bucky’s smirk said more than he meant to, and he quickly hid it at Natasha’s raised brow. 

Oh really? He was going to act like Clint was the only one with a secret relationship? Natasha had known for ages that he and the little Witch had been shacking up. But instead of redirecting the conversation to take the heat off her partner (which she’d have to explain line-by-line to Clint because he was _clueless_ ), the redhead rolled her eyes and settled on a “Sure, Hawk.”

Clint slowly finished wrapping up his left hand, glaring daggers at Barnes, who still looked a little too smug for her liking, but that was another day. Another interrogation.

Throwing her hands in front of her face in a defensive stance, she tried to kick off sparring so they’d stop wasting time. But the flush on Clint’s cheeks wasn’t from exertion, and the way his eyes kept darted off towards the punching bags wasn’t in line with his training. He was sloppy, and if they hadn’t been prepping for a big mission a few weeks out, she might have laughed.

After all, it was almost cute seeing him flounder like this. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to hang dirt this good over his head. Frankly, it was hard to remember him being this agreeable in general. Between New York and Sokovia, he’d had a rough few years with the team. 

So, maybe he deserved it, this little slice of happiness.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Steve announced, giving Natasha a wink she quickly returned with a smile, forgetting herself.

She tried to keep her Widow face in check, not wanting to give the gossips any more ammunition, but Barnes was already eyeing her from across the room in their silent spy lingo. 

Clint harrumphed, “Aw, guys. It was just a date. Does everyone know?”

His eyes widened as he jerked himself backward, nearly missing Nat’s left hook.

Right hook. Duck. Step back.

“Goddamn it. They finally did it, didn’t they?” Sam Wilson strode in with a grimace. “Shit. I totally owe Tony twenty bucks.”

The archer’s mouth dropped open; face screwed up somewhere between confusion and hurt pride.

“You all knew? And you were _betting on me_?”

Clint missed a beat in his footwork, craning his head around to watch Sam approach him.

“What are friends for?” Sam asked with a grin and a pat on the shoulder. 

Clint’s look was quickly replaced by his token toothy smile, one that stretched out across his face at the word ‘friend,’ and Natasha could have rolled her eyes again. He needed to get over this whole martyr complex. Maybe she’d be able to beat it out of him.

“Yeah, we’re just happy for you, buddy,” Bucky chimed in.

Oh, great. Tack on some much-needed bromance. The testosterone was suffocating. 

Puke.

“Well, it’s nothing anyway,” Clint brushed off, smiling fading slightly. “It was just a date.”

Bucky’s snort echoed through the room. Idiot.

Having allowed sufficient time for him to play the lovestruck dumbass (a role he knew too well but hadn’t played much lately), Natasha was ready to chime in with the ‘but.’

“She better not hurt you,” She quietly shot to him in a tone only the super-soldiers would catch.

Brows furrowed and hands dropped to his sides, he turned to her and asked, “Wait. Why do you think _she’d_ hurt _me_?”

Natasha sighed, leisurely moving her foot behind his and shoving hard in one swift movement. His back slammed onto the mat hard with a thump, eliciting an “Oof” and a chorus of laughter. 

He really should have stayed on his game (and his toes).

“Because, Barton, the years have made you soft.”

And sensitive. 

And if Natasha Romanoff had learned anything in life, it was that softness was weakness, and weakness would get you killed… or worse. Her thoughts wandered to the other half of the equation. 

Did Darcy even know what she was signing up for here?

Her mind was already made up on the next step, but she’d have to make this quick.


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy Lewis was predictably perched in the front lobby of Avenger Tower with a tray holding three coffee cups in her lap. She was waiting for Clint Barton, for their usual morning trade-off of baked goods. A coffee for a bagel, sometimes a muffin or even a cupcake when Clint was in an exceptionally good mood (or a bad one). 

The spy had watched their breakfast exchange dozens of times and knew the routine well.

Little did Darcy know, thanks to a little text Natasha Romanoff spoofed her phone number on, he'd be running about fifteen minutes late today. Something about a special request for a bakery across town. And the idiot fell for it hook, line and sinker (he shouldn't have; she'd barely tried to match Darcy's texting style), so here she was with at least ten minutes to spare.

Today's task was barely a side mission to the spy, so ten minutes would be more than enough.

Natasha didn't want to be the bad guy here; she wasn't out to make enemies. She wasn't some malicious entity lurking in the shadows waiting for this girl to screw up. No, the lines would be drawn clearly in the sand, and they would both walk away and pretend this conversation hadn't happened. 

Like adults. 

Had they both been any other women, any other non-agents or enhanced, Natasha would have simply given Darcy the benefit of the doubt. But she'd been around long enough to know better. 

"Darcy Lewis."

She'd read the files, done the research, and even watched from the shadows. And the fact that the girl barely flinched, barely blinked as she approached her in the lobby solidified her decision to add a personal touch to this interaction. 

"Natasha… I don't know what your last name is, actually," the brunette admitted through sips of coffee. "I'm assuming this is for you? I was wondering why 'Clint' texted for an extra red eye."

The spy reached over and plucked a cup from the tray, taking a deep swig. She had to hand it to Clint; he had a terrible taste in a lot of things, but coffee wasn't one of them. Cup in hand, she settled into the seat across from Darcy and just stared at her.

Rule one of trying to get answers: don't ask questions. Let people sweat.

Silence made people uncomfortable. They were inclined to fill it with anything, useless information, facts, nattering. But once in a while, they gave you something useful without even realizing it.

"Here to ask me what my intentions are?"

Darcy's face was a sly smile, the kind that smart women kept in their back pocket for rainy days or interrogations. She had known this was coming; she was intelligent enough. The amusement was apparent in her eyes, well-mannered crinkles challenging Natasha to do her worst.

"No, no. I'm pretty sure I know exactly what your intentions are," Natasha mused with a hum.

Darcy shifted in her seat, crossing her legs as she asked, "A shovel talk then? Or is this more of an ex warning the new girl kind of chat?"

"You and I both know Clint and I were never like that."

"Not for lack of trying."

Natasha had to give it to her; she was excellent. 

Darcy was much better than she anticipated. More fluid and agile than she would have assumed had she picked her out of a crowd. Quick wit, sharp teeth…this girl was more than just a run-of-the-mill civilian. Maybe it was all those run-ins with extraterrestrials. Natasha almost liked her, and it was easy to see precisely why Clint did. 

But she wasn't about to touch the implied question or take the bait. Natasha Romanoff didn't owe anyone an explanation of her personal affairs.

"I wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

"And what page is that?"

Taking a shot of caffeine, Natasha set the coffee cup on the side table and folded her hands in her lap, a spy's sign of respect, palms open and visible with nothing to hide, just as she was now.

"I have no reason to dislike you. If anything, I'd like to pick your brain sometime, maybe for some blackmail fodder," she added casually, widening Darcy's smile. "And I'm not here to threaten your life or pretend that I don't know you're two consenting adults with needs and wants—" _childish_ was the word she wanted to add here "—But if you hurt Clint, you know where we stand."

Darcy could have shot back and asked how she was so sure Clint wouldn't hurt her. She could have laughed in Natasha's face at the vaguely threatening promise and blown her off completely. She could have shrivelled up and excused herself to cry in the bathroom as many a person had done before her. 

None of these options would have been the smart way to go, so expectedly none of these options were how Darcy Lewis reacted to the very stoic spy sitting across from her.

"You sure have a lot of faith in your friend," Darcy said simply, giving Natasha a knowing look and an unreadable expression.

It was straight out of the handbook: less is more. Why stuff your sentences full of frivolous feelings when you can just get to the heart of the issue?

Natasha was quite sure Darcy was putting on a brave face for her benefit at this moment; she very much doubted Clint had seen this side of her. But regardless, an inkling of newfound respect bubbled up for the girl, and she decided to play ball.

"Too much, sometimes. You and I both know that."

Natasha was looking at the chess boards and thinking dozens of moves ahead. She was making sure one little pawn wasn't going to get in the way of the bigger picture. Any impact on Barton that he carried outside of their apartments and their bed was a liability in the field, in the real world where they saved people every day.

Darcy nodded in concession, "We both know I can't make promises. Not to you."

Not when she wasn't the only factor in the scenario. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, after all. And sometimes Barton was _too_ good.

"I think we both know the only promise I was expecting this morning is the one I just made to you."

But intentions weren't good enough in a life or death scenario. Not always. 

And Darcy would have to live knowing that. Knowing that she would be on the side of a scale with no control over what she was being weighed against, what was balancing against her. Knowing that she couldn't be a priority, not really, and Natasha wasn't going to step in and save her if Barton was on the line.

"You're a good friend. A little scary, but a good friend, nonetheless."

Darcy's confirmation carried a silent understanding between them, one that said this conversation was theirs alone.

Sure, she would play nice, maybe even shoot a compliment or two her way or talk in polite company, but they were not friends. Natasha Romanoff did not have friends. She had coworkers and family and nothing in between.

“Only a _little_ scary?”

"Oh come on, this is your soft face, and you know it."

Natasha didn't dignify the joke with a response, but the corner of her lip tilted a fraction as she slunk towards the elevator and headed up to start her own workday.

Sure, Clint was an idiot, but maybe she'd let them have their fun. Maybe this surprisingly resilient civilian would be good for him. Perhaps she could even rid him of his underdog complex.

But, like all things in love and life with Barton, that was a long-shot.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever ask yourself WWNRD? Basically that’s how this fic came to be. The chapters were on the shorter side, so I decided to not drag it out into two updates.
> 
> Series updates: The next part of this ‘series’ will be in this same timeline, and then we’ll go back to the post-Snap timeline for the ‘finale.’
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are loved and cherished.  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/), where I post a lot of comic book content, work updates, and behind-the-scenes commentary.


End file.
